


Imperfections and Troubles

by Army C (arh581958)



Series: Comfort [11]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Angst, Because that's how Mickey talks, Bipolar!Ian, Canon Compliant, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drepression, Established Relationship, Homophobic Language, Homophobic Slurs, Lactation, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation, Mickey POV, Mickey-centric, Post-Canon, References to Depression, Talking about depression from an outsider's POV, bipolar, caring!mickey, introspective, lactating!Mickey, mental health, mental issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 04:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13919673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Army%20C
Summary: What’s it feel like to be trapped inside your own body?Mickey sure as hell doesn’t know.He also knows what it’s like to be trapped by his own self. Case and point, the example above. That, by far, was the hardest thing he ever had to escape from—or accept, in his case. But, really, he doesn’t know what it’s like to be trapped by his own mind—and not just his insecurities.Living with Ian has given him perspective.





	Imperfections and Troubles

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Not beta read. Open to volunteers. 
> 
> Trigger: Talks heavily about the depression side of bipolar. Told from and outsider's perspective. Since talking isn't the strong suit, Mickey is prone to making inaccurate assumptions so bare with him.

What’s it feel like to be trapped inside your own body?

Mickey sure as hell doesn’t know.

He’s been trapped loads of time though— in a bad drug deal or drug run, in his old house, in a holding cell, in a fake marriage, in juvie, in the Gallagher house, in unplanned parenthood, in trouble with the cops or any sort of authority, in his father’s fucked-up sense of patriarchy, in a lousy job, and in his own metaphorical closet.

He also knows what it’s like to be trapped by his own self. Case and point, the example above. That, by far, was the hardest thing he ever had to escape from—or accept, in his case. But, really, he doesn’t _know_ what it’s like to be trapped by his own mind—and not just his insecurities.

Living with Ian has given him perspective.

It was some tough shit to live day by day with gun pointed behind his head, but living with bipolar disorder was like walking across a field of sink holes in pitch-black darkness. There wasn’t even a blind-fold because blind-fold can be taken off. Nope, it was just complete and total darkness.

Ian was brave for keeping on fighting it—surviving.

Mickey’s seen the struggle every day; some were good, some were bad, and some was a fucked-up mix of both. Ian worked with his doctor, drank his meds when he needed them, and kept on living like the bad-ass motherfucker that Mickey always knew he was.

That didn’t mean that Ian never tripped on sink holes though.

Ian did.

And, when he did, Mickey made sure that he was ready to dive right in and pull Ian’s ginger ass out of the abyss.

The luckier times were when it came in stages. That mean they had days of symptoms lining up for the inevitable fall. Ian would grow quiet and withdrawn. He’d stop the morning jog, start obsessing about pancakes, and pound the living daylight out of Mickey like neither of them had work the following morning.

Other days were just plain shitty and Ian fell head-first out of nowhere. Mickey would come home and find Ian curled into a ball in their kitchen. Sometimes he’s got his full EMT gear on or sometimes his school clothes or whatever the fuck he was wearing that day. Sometimes he wasn’t wearing anything at all, like he’d crawled out of bed and gave up in the middle of fighting with his mind.

Mickey never knew what was the right thing to do. He was never sure. He wasn’t Ian. He didn’t know what was going through Ian’s mind. Talking was never really their strong suit. Sometimes the whole silent communication was a bitch and it bit him on his scarred ass.

During those time, he felt trapped. He had a man whom he loved so much and yet he didn’t know how to help Ian out of it.

That didn’t stop him from trying.

He was there when Ian can barely move a muscle, when Ian was just a shell trapped inside himself, when Ian wasn’t normal-Ian but he was still Mickey’s Ian. Mickey loved every single part of the patsy-assed ginger giant so much that it hurt.

It was easier when all he had to do was look out for himself. But, he could never imagine life with Ian. He would rather have this—all the imperfections, and troubles, and worry that came with it—than imagine a life without Ian.

Ian was his, just like he was Ian’s.

They’ve promised themselves to each other in all those faggy-ways that once made him want to puke. Now, all those promises made stupid-as-fuck butterflies flutter in his stomach. He’s come to recognize that icky feeling as happiness. He didn’t know what it felt like before Ian came along.

“Hey,” Mickey said, walking into the bedroom to find Ian tangled with the covers.

It looked more like Ian fought the sheets and lost. His limbs sprawled out in random places, like a foot and leg out and another hand peeking from the corner. It’s the middle of winter and the room felt frigid. Ian would normally be complaining about their shitting heater as soon as Mickey walked in, but he was silent.

The ratty old rucksack dropped to the floor with an audible thud.

Mickey rushed across the tiny space with heavy steps. His workman boots stomped across the creaky wooden panes heavily but his hands were gentle when they touched Ian’s shoulder. The redhead moaned but otherwise gave no other response.

“Shit,” Mickey cursed to himself. The rock he’d been feeling in his stomach all afternoon finally made sense. “Goddamn stupid fucking asshole.”

There wasn’t a protocol when Ian became like this. Each time was unique. Each time was different. There wasn’t a go-to book for this kind of thing.

The only thing that Mickey knew was Ian, and that’s the only thing that mattered.

Ian was weak towards the cold; and so, Mickey grabbed their thickest blankest from the wash and dumped it on the bed. He also turned-on the rickety old heater beside the bed. He rummaged their cabinets for the hot water bottles that Fiona gave as a house-warming present, boiled some water, then stuffed those under the blankets too.

He knew that Ian hated feeling dirty after these kinds of episodes; and so, he took their biggest bowl, filled that with hot water, and a clean wash cloth. He shed his dirty jeans and donned Ian’s discarded sweatpants from last night. Using the towelette, he wiped down Ian as best he could as if the redhead has a fever—face, neck, arms, wrists, hands, fingers, pits, chest, waist, back, pelvis, crease, thighs, behinds the knees, shins, ankles, balls of the feet, and down to Ian’s little toe. Then, he dumped all that shit in the bathroom for tidying later on.

Mickey scavenged through their pantry for anything light to eat. There was way too much junk food that Ian could never stomach after he got like this but Mickey knew that they bought digestives just in case this happened. The biscuits were at the back of the cabinet, thankfully not expired. He took that, a bottle Ian’s favorite sports drink filled with electrolyte shit, and a half-finished bottle of water for himself.

He jumped into the shower for a quick rinse before climbing into bed naked with a towel around his neck. It was too hot under those sheets with the blankets, the water bottles, and Ian creating a cavern of heat. The last thing he did was pull the charger from his bedside drawer and plugged his phone.

It was a waiting game.

Ian had waited for Mickey to come out, accept himself, accept him, accept their relationship, then be ready to come out in the open about it. The least that Mickey could do is wait a couple of days when Ian needed him like this.

He shot a message to his boss about taking an emergency sick leave due to familial reasons, not really caring what the old Russian said. They’ve already gotten into a fight about this before. Mickey almost lost his job until, whether by luck or miracle, his boss had done a background check on him and Ian’s secret had been revealed. Mickey had threatened to quit right then and there, but the sentimental bastard told him that family always came first.

Mickey munched on a couple of biscuits and downed half the bottle’s contents before settling in to tinker with his phone. It wouldn’t be long until he fell asleep. As tough as work at the garage could be, it was harder worrying about Ian. It could be a light episode or a really bad one. He wouldn’t really figure it out until a day or two of waiting.

“Take yer time, Firecrotch,” Mickey said, thinking out loud as he run fingers through Ian’s hair, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” He leaned down, kissing Ian on the shoulder then forehead before turning off the lights and calling it a night.

Mickey was swept into dreamland as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Though, sometime during the night, he felt Ian moving around. He figured it wasn’t a conscious thing. Ian once described moments like this as a sort of haze. Whatever the case was, Mickey just opened his arms and allowed Ian to crawl closer with his head still buried underneath the covers.

It didn’t take long for Mickey to feel lips latching onto his nipple and starting to suckle; only then could he relax.

He knew that everything was going to be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been mildly depressed this part two weeks. I say mildly because I was still aware of what was happening and the symptoms, and so I was able to work through it. I've been thinking of how I would like someone to take care of me during times like that. This work reflects that. Honestly, I just want someone who wouldn't give up no matter how shitty it got because things can really get shitty. I hope that this story was able to portray how strength can manifest in different ways--like for Ian or for Mickey. 
> 
> ***
> 
> If you have a prompt or an idea, you can [INSPIRE ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/submit) on tumblr. Or [TALK TO ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/ask)~
> 
> As always, **kudos/comments/bookmarks** are all appreciated by this author. I take comments as extra-kudos and I _do_ read the bookmark tags (some are really fun).


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